A Minute to Spare
by avaatquevale2250
Summary: Maxon and America have worked tirelessly on a plan to eliminate the castes. Tensions are high, but there might just be a minute to indulge in their need for one another. It leads to a bet, in which the winner will get to decide how the passing vote is celebrated! Originally posted in my One Night with the Prince series, but I decided to move do to it being more explicit in nature.
1. Chapter 1

A Maxerica One-shot written from the inspiration I got from a post on tumblr concerning after marriage Maxerica life. I've been missing having a little Maxerica goodness, so this little one-shot was born.

 **Warning: I'm going to be on the safe side and say this is rated _M_. It doesn't get super explicit, but it's definitely on the smuttier side.** Not full on lemon, more like lemonade? HA! But things are implied and well...yeah. ;)

I apologize in advanced for typos. I edited this in a hurry. If you see something blatant, please let me know! FYI, this was originally posted in my One Night Series, but has been moved due to the content of chapter 2! Enjoy!

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Maxon stared at the paperwork in front of him, utterly lost for words. He knew how much serving as Illea's King would take; he saw the time, the passion, the effort that his father and mother both exerted. There would be difficult decisions and long nights, sacrificing his needs for those of his people. He was born with privileges that came with a price: doing right by the people of Illea, focusing on them instead of himself. It was worth it if it made his country, his people better.

"Your majesty, the council should be arriving shortly," Aspen informed him as he walked into his office. "All the security is taken care of. We have guards posted at all the property lines and entrances."

"Good," Maxon muttered, shuffling the papers in front of him. He wanted to get them back in the correct order and thumb through them one more time. The security was just a precaution. Today wasn't something he would risk in an attack. Eliminating the caste system wouldn't be easy. The logistics were a nightmare but would be well worth it. This was the first step in getting that goal started, by getting the elected council's approval for the plan. Of course, things would have to be altered as the country's reaction and needs were assessed. He just had to convince the council that this was the right way to start.

"Maxon?"

He looked up at Aspen. It wasn't so long ago that he was convinced that this man was secretly trying to steal the love of his life. Now, things had changed. Over the past few months, Aspen became someone that he trusted and depended on. He was more than his Chief of Security; he was his dear friend.

Aspen smiled. "You've done all the prep. I may not be as educated as some of the council, but there's no flaw in that plan."

"They'll find one," Maxon responded. He remembered how his father's council would react at times. Now, in addition to his royal council, there was a committee chosen by the representatives of all the provinces he had to convince as well.

"Maybe so, but with your plan and America's passion, there's no way they'll leave saying no."

"I'm not going to let them say no."

That voice had become his light, his belief in himself when he wasn't positive he would ever be a good King. America Singer Schreave walked through the door held open by the guard, looking as regal and commanding as she ever had. Her dress was simple, a deep navy blue shift with lace, looking both professional and tantalizingly gorgeous at the same time. Her wild red hair was swept up into a low, messy bun, her make-up soft and natural. The tiara that sat on her head, small compared to the normal one, conveyed just the sense of propriety they needed. It marked her as a royal but wasn't ostentatious.

"Lucy knew you would like that one," Aspen murmured. America smiled in his direction before giving his shoulder a squeeze.

"Thank God she still gives me opinions on dresses. You and I both know that I'm not even close to being use to this."

"You are adjusting well," Maxon replied, his eyes glancing over her once more. Never in a million years did he think he was capable of being this happy, of ever having a chance of finding her. He was the undeserving one, the one that was lucky to have her.

Aspen quickly bowed. "I'll go make sure everything is ready. Good luck, your Majesties." He left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. The minute it closed, Maxon's chest grew tight. He'd had quite a bit of time to adjust to being married, almost six months now. The tension, the sensation that took over his body every time he was alone with his wife, was something he'd doubt he would ever get used to. He focused on arranging his papers, getting the stack in order again. Still, Maxon was painfully aware of every step his wife took towards him, of the butterflies in his stomach going wild at her impending closeness. His heart pounded deep inside his chest, loud enough that he swore everyone in the palace could hear it. She came to stand by his chair, her arm laid carefully across his shoulders. She straightened the top sheet of paper, the lavender and vanilla scent of her perfume both calming and familiar.

"You are ready, Maxon."

"But what if they don't approve it? How many more months will we sit in committees discussing things over and over again?"

"That's not going to happen. We will have the vote today," she replied confidently. Maxon was a little skeptical. Usually, he could read the council, anticipate which way a vote would go. This time, it was all up in the air. He wanted to be sure of something, to quell the nervous energy in his stomach. Maxon spun his chair towards his wife and opened his arms. America sat in his lap, letting him pull her close. She laid her head against his shoulder, her soft breaths hitting the bare skin at his neck. For a minute or so, they just sat there together, basking in one another's embrace. When she was close, the whole world seemed to stop. There was no unrest, no kingly duties to attend to. It was just him and his girl from Carolina, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. It felt easy, simple. He liked that.

"How are you so sure?" he murmured before placing a soft kiss against her forehead. America smiled before lifting her head and taking hold of his face, forcing Maxon to look her in the eyes. That simple touch stirred something inside of him, made his breath hitch and catch.

"Because," she murmured, his fingers slowly grazing his jaw. "I believe in you, and you have worked so hard at this." She leaned forward, placing her lips just under his ear, causing his heart to skip a beat. Hadn't she heard it by now? "You've made a crazy idea come true, Maxon."

"You helped," he murmured, his voice way huskier than he would like. Having America like this just added fuel to the always dull fire he had for her. It didn't matter that they spent almost every minute together. Every time her skin brushed his, her breath washed over him, was like the first time. He wanted more, to hold her and love her until all his worries and concerns fell away.

"I think you mean I was insane enough to suggest it on national television."

"Still, it was a great idea," he countered. Maxon's hands had ventured to her waist, feeling along the line where the lace and fabric met. She continued to press her lips along his jaw, making it all the way to the corner of his lips. "Maybe not the most artfully revealed, though."

America pulled away with a look of mock indignation, her eyes alight with humor. "You accusing me of lacking tact!? And you call yourself a gentleman!"

"Your words, not mine. And I prefer to call myself a husband."

Maxon gently cupped America's neck with his hands, pulling her towards him. She laughed, the sound radiating joy and love. The minute their lips touched, the embers ignited, the butterflies vanishing from his stomach, morphing into electricity careening over his whole body. Every cell felt alive, ready to take on the world. It didn't take long for the kiss to grow needy and intense. America's fingers laced into his hair, pulling him closer, wanting him just like he did with her. He broke away briefly, assaulting her neck in that spot he knew that she liked, a sigh of pleasure leaving her.

"Oh," she warbled, her voice saturated with want. Her hands tensed against him before she tilted her head to give him better access. Part of him knew that America deserved better than having a quickie in his office. But the way her body shuddered at his touch, the soft sigh and eagerness she exuded before she came back to kiss him, was almost his undoing.

It took every ounce of self-control he had to pull away from her. Maxon cleared his throat, glancing at the clock.

"We, um, we have fifteen minutes until the meeting." It was plenty of time, but at the same time, not enough at all. Like a drug, he wanted more. He was addicted to America, in every way: her mind, her body, that devastatingly cute smirk she now wore with a raised brow.

"That's plenty of time. We only need five," she purred as she reached for his tie. Maxon's hands clenched the arms of her chair, watching her artfully undo it. Part of him, the anxious part that was still lurking deep within him, needed to look over everything one more time. That part was quickly shoved in a drawer when America started undoing the buttons on his shirt.

"You only need five. I need ten, dear," he countered with a grin.

America paused about halfway down, a look of righteous indignation on her face. Her eyes sparkled with mirth, loving his teasing.

"I think you are overestimating your abilities in the present situation. And I'm not your dear. Seven max."

"Still, that's cutting it close."

America pulled his shirt from his pants, exposing his chest and abs. She greedily ran her hands over him, her fingertips leaving a line of fire in their wake. Without even thinking, Maxon slung his tie from around his neck as America shot him a wicked smile.

"Even if it takes ten minutes, that gives us five to spare. Haven't you ever heard of being fashionably late?" She quickly kissed the base of his neck working her way down to his chest. "Besides, I'm betting that you'll finish the same time I do."

"That so?" Maxon's voice trembled as his wife continued down, her nimble fingers working on unbuckling his belt. "And what are you willing to bet, darling?"

Her hand trailed him in his pants, just enough pressure to know that there was no going back now. America stood, Maxon following.

"I bet you tonight. We are going to celebrate finally getting the vote. If I win, then I get to choose how we celebrate." She reached up under her dress, sliding her blue lace panties down her legs before kicking them off and sitting on the desk. "If you win, then you get to choose." America spread her legs, the perfect amount of space so her husband could stand between them. Maxon grabbed her hips, hard enough to make her gasp but not hurt her. He kissed her deeply before pulling away, still close enough that his lips brushed hers as he spoke.

"Did anyone ever tell you how good of a negotiator you are?"

America already had the button of his pants undone, pushing them over his hips. She pushed herself against him, the thin material of his boxer briefs an aggravating barrier between them. His mind honed in on his wife, focused on pleasuring her. Nothing else mattered at the moment. She lifted her hips for him so Maxon's hands could push her dress up just enough to expose her. America slide her hands under the band of his underwear, sliding them down and freeing him. She gently stroked him with her hand. She smiled into the kiss, at the gush of air Maxon let out at her touch.

"I was told I have talent in that area." She glanced back at the clock. "We have 12 minutes, now. Time's a wasting, my beloved Rock God."

Maxon laughed, the sound filled with mirth. She knew exactly what he desired, a way to ease the tension and anxiety. Maxon loved her so damned much. He had to taste her, to have that loving heart and wit become a part of him. She filled the room with laughter, with unbridled happiness and hope. She made him a better man, a better King. He pulled her closer, filling her. America gasped in pleasure, her breaths deep and heady. Her arms wrapped around his neck, kissing him with the same amount of vigor. Nothing else existed outside of this moment, of their bodies pressed together, moving in perfect sync. No sound prevailed besides the pounding of Maxon's heart and America's labored breathing, along with the low creak of the desk underneath them as they moved. He leaned into her, needing to feel her muscles tense, the low whine that she muffled against his neck. He craved more of her, to know that he could make her feel as amazing she made him feel. He gripped into the edge of the desk, a stack of papers preventing him from getting the hold he wanted. He shifted his weight, prepared to sling the rotten pile on to the floor.

"Maxon!" America sputtered, grabbing his wrist just as he was about to push them off. She quickly shifted them to the back corner out of harm's way. She guided his hand back to her, a breathy laugh leaving her. "We aren't going to have time to get them in order again," she whispered seductively before rocking her hips against his.

"Oh," he stuttered, realizing what he almost did. A blush unwillingly rose to his cheeks, despite of their current state of undress. She smiled and shook her head, pulling him closer as they continued at a slower pace. She held his face, staring into his eyes as they slowly moved together.

"What would I do without you?" Maxon whispered before placing a kiss against her neck, rocking into her with every ounce of love and devotion he had.

"You'll never have to find out," she replied, her voice soft.

It felt like they had far passed the fifteen-minute mark. Surely, the whole castle knew what they were doing, why they were so late to the meeting, but Maxon found that he didn't care. He only wanted this to last forever, to have her hands gripping his shoulders, her body shuddering against his as they reached their peak together. His whole body had relaxed, the satisfied calm almost making him drowsy. Maxon lazily kissed his wife, thinking since they were late already, maybe another fifteen minutes wouldn't hurt…

A quick rap abounded through the door. They both stood.

"Yes?" America called out as Maxon hurriedly pulled up his underwear and pants. She quickly shifted her dress so that she was covered before grabbing her panties off the floor.

"We are ready when you are, your Majesties."

"Give us just a minute," Maxon called out. He quickly buttoned up his shirt, careful to ensure he didn't skip one. Thank heaven and hell it didn't have anything on it. America did the same, straightening her dress and freshening herself before returning to Maxon with his tie in hand. She wrapped it around his neck, tying it back just as beautifully as she had undone it. Maxon tucked a fallen strand of hair behind her ear. How was it possible she looked even more radiant than when she walked in? Her cheeks were a lovely color, her eyes bright and wild, her stance controlled and confident. She was a Queen in every sense of the word.

"Do I have anything on my dress?" she whispered as she finished straightening his tie. Maxon took a step back, his gaze lingering over every inch of his wife. He twirled his finger around. America shook her head with a massive smile before complying.

"You look good, my love. Do I?"

America grabbed his suit jacket before walking over to him. She helped him slide it on before messing with the pocket square and running her thumb across the edge of his lips, no doubt removing a bit of her lipstick. "You look perfect. A King ready to conquer. But one that will have to settle to being conquered tonight. We even have time to spare."

She tilted her head towards the clock, clearly showing that they still had one minute. How, Maxon had no idea. His wife was right. She'd won, fair and square. Maxon bit his lip, trying to hide the grin. Really, this was one bet he didn't mind losing. He grabbed the stack of papers, quickly settling them into his leather binder before facing her.

"I'm looking forward to seeing what you'll do with me, my Queen."


	2. Chapter 2

-America-

There was something strangely satisfying about being right.

She was prone to mistakes. She'd made plenty during the Selection, and the trend continued when she became Queen. Granted, they were not nearly as close in capacity to the ones she had back then. She'd come a long way, but there were times she still felt like she had miles to go, that maybe she'd never be the Queen that Illea and Maxon deserved. Everyday, she fought to improve, to better herself. So, when she was right about something, when she calculated correctly, it was a win in her book. Besides, there was more to celebrate tonight than winning a bet against her husband.

The vote passed.

All their hard work the past few months, the sleepless nights, the stress and worry, was worth it. The council only argued about two hours before making a few minor changes and moving to approval vote on the final plan. They did it, together, as King and Queen. Within the next few years, the caste system would be a thing of the past. People would have a chance to choose, to go after their passions instead of the job assigned to them.

It was late, well past the time that most of the staff and guests retire to their rooms. She arranged for part of it during a break in the meeting that afternoon. Now, it was just getting her husband downstairs with her.

"This was not the kind of celebration I had in mind." Maxon moved his hand from her shoulder, no doubt to take a peek at his surroundings. America quickly grabbed his hand and placed a quick kiss against the pads of his fingers before placing his hand back on her waist.

"You lost the bet. You have to do what I say, remember?"

"I'm following you aren't I? Come on, America," Maxon playfully groaned. "Where are we going?"

"You'll just have to wait. We are almost there."

"Can't you at least tell me?"

"It'll ruin the surprise! Besides, you were so patient with the Angeles representative today. I thought that behavior would at least carry over to your wife," she teased him. Maxon's hands gripped into her waist, pulling her back against him. America could feel every toned inch of her husband against her back. Tonight had to be perfect, and that meant not giving into her desires quite yet. She wanted to draw it out as long as possible. That will almost crumbled when she felt his heated breath against her neck. It would have if she'd seen the knowing grin he wore in between the kisses he placed there, which were enough to drive the sanest person mad. Her muscles tensed in his hold, earning a satisfied chuckle from her husband.

"I've been very patient, I think. I simply assumed my surprise was where we just left."

"What did you tell me about assuming?" America turned in his grasp and pulled his face towards her, just close enough that her lips ghosted his as she spoke. "I seem to remember something about it making an ass out of you and me."

"Very funny," he retorted. America took a step back. She felt for the knob behind her before opening the door to their destination. She guided him in, placing him in the middle of the room before making sure the door they just came in was locked. For what she had in mind, there needed to be no chance of anyone walking in. She reached up, carefully untying the blindfold.

"The kitchen?" Maxon observed in a deadpanned voice. Everything was laid out and ready, exactly as she had expressed to the cook. America walked around him with a huge grin.

"Yes, the kitchen. After such a long and trying day, the Queen demands strawberry tarts. Chef Ingram told me that your baking skills have improved drastically," she explained before sitting on one of the barstools. "For my victory prize, I want strawberry tarts made by my husband. That is how I wish to celebrate." She reached to the chair beside her, picking up one of the kitchen staff's aprons. Maxon sauntered towards her.

"You would ask me to cook. And after that disaster last week?"

"They were just a little toasted, Maxon. I believe in your baking skills, just like you believe in my negotiator skills. Plus, the dough and filling are already done. You just have to put everything together and bake." America shook the apron, her grin growing by the minute. Maxon took the apron from her with a resigned sigh.

"You will be the death of me," he promised as he put on the apron and tied it around his waist. He went to the other side of the counter, washed his hands, and began working on the tarts.

Maxon had tried to learn to cook her favorite dessert for her birthday present. He'd failed spectacularly, and ever since then, America loved to get him to try again. The last round only ended up with slightly charred tarts. She opened a bottle of champagne and poured a glass while carefully watching her husband construct her favorite dessert. Really, all the hard parts had been taken care of. Maxon worked meticulously on the tarts, rolling each out with careful consideration. Maxon was a perfectionist at heart. He didn't like doing anything less than his best. With each batch his confidence grew, something America was immensely proud of. He just finished spooning out the filling into the tart trays, sprinkling the top with a little extra streusel, just like America liked it.

"Are you satisfied?" Maxon questioned while presenting his creations. America laughed and nodded her head. Maxon put them in the oven, bowing deeply in her direction.

"Now, what shall I do for the next twenty minutes, your majesty?"

America gave a non-committal hum before leaving her chair. She stood and walked to grab another champagne glass, taking her time before returning and setting it beside her own.

"I was thinking that we could drink some champagne and clean up." America refilled her glass and poured Maxon's, careful to watch the rising foam. "We don't want to leave a messy kitchen for the staff. That's just rude." She handed him his flute, from which he took a generous swig.

"Agreed," Maxon murmured. Together, they picked up the kitchen, depositing the dirty dishes into the sink and throwing the used flour and wax paper into the trash. The minutes ticked by, both of them working together on washing the dishes in silence. Each second that passed seemed to further the tension. America was a spring, tightly coiled and ready to be unleased. She'd purposefully moved the filling bowl out of his reach, hoping that it would be the last thing he grabbed. Once again, she calculated correctly. Maxon grabbed the bowl and started to rinse it out.

"Wait!" America grabbed his hands and the bowl, putting it back on the counter. "I want to taste it."

"It's the same tart filling as normal," Maxon noted as he dried his hands. "Are you seriously about to lick the bowl?"

"Absolutely not!" America countered. She took Maxon's hand and positioned it so one finger stuck out. She guided it into the bowl, swirling it around the rim, leaving a dollop of filling on the tip of his finger. "I'm going to use you as my spoon."

America took his finger into his mouth, savoring the sweet taste of the filling and his skin. Maxon watched her with wide eyes, his hand falling limply to his side once she let it go. That's what she wanted tonight. She wanted to conquer her husband the same way he took over her. When he touched her, kissed her, whispered her name…it was like everything in the world slowed down. He invaded her mind and body in such a wonderful way. She craved it, needed it, as surely as she needed water and air to survive.

"Something is different this time. It tastes even better." She stuck her finger into the bowl, holding it out for Maxon. "Don't you want to taste and see?" she asked in a low, husky voice. Maxon took a step towards her, taking her hand in his own. His eyes never left her as he placed her finger in his mouth, sucking it in the same gentle way he would tease her lip. Everything in America heated at the touch. Maybe this wasn't such a good plan, after all. She was supposed to be teasing him, not the other way around! Maxon pulled away, dipping his thumb into the bowl before brushing it along her bottom lip.

"You have something there, Mrs. Schreave. Shall I get it for you?"

He didn't give her time to answer, not even enough time to really think. Maxon's lips touched hers, scattering all her thoughts. The only thing that existed was his mouth on hers, the way his hands gripped into her waist, pulling her flush against him. The strawberries mixed in with the champagne, his unique taste mixing in to make it better than any dessert she'd ever have. She held him close, wishing that the stupid tarts took less time to cook. Maxon picked America up, placing her on the counter. She was just about an inch taller than him this way, putting them on almost equal footing. He moved to her neck, sucking the spot just above her collar bone that turned her whole frame to mush.

"I think we should go back upstairs," he whispered.

"And burn your tarts again?" she countered while running her hands up along his arms. She loved how strong Maxon felt, how safe she felt inside his embrace. "We have five minutes, Maxon. Patience is a virtue, correct?"

"You always seem to test mine," he countered. He glanced down before stealing a peak up at his wife. His eyes seemed to burn beneath his lashes. "You'd really pick strawberry tarts over me?"

He was testing her. America pretended to think about it for a second. That look was something she fell for nearly every time she saw it. She needed to get the upper hand back. Lately, she always felt like putty in his hands. This time, she wanted to turn the tables. "They are pretty spectacular. I'll need a list of reasons, in writing, on why you, your majesty, are better than the tarts. You can work on that while they finish."

Maxon raised his brows in playful delight. "So, this is what you wanted? This is the game I need to play?"

"Excuse me? What game? The only thing I want is dessert."

"I promise you that what I have in mind is better than any dessert you'll ever have."

Maxon's hands rested on either side of her, dangerously close to her waist. America swallowed. "I thought I was in charge tonight. That was our deal, remember?"

Maxon nodded his head, idly running his hands along her legs. "Of course. I'm merely coming to the table with an offer."

"Starting negotiations already?" she purred. America hopped off the counter, moving to the other side of the island. She'd never be able to resist with Maxon that close to her. Her husband stayed on his side but leaned forward on his forearms, his amused smirk affecting her more than she'd like. "Why don't you elaborate on this plan? I'll need convincing."

Maxon took a deep breath, staring at her like she was the only thing he saw. "I propose that we cut off the oven. The tarts may burn; they may not. We take the risk and head back upstairs."

America shook her head. "I'm getting one of those tarts before we head anywhere." America leaned forward, the neckline of her dress dipping just low enough to tease her husband. "And why is upstairs any better than right here?"

"Because if we stay down here, we are going to be heard. This kitchen echoes."

"Same could be said for upstairs," she countered.

"I think the staff down the hall would disagree."

Maxon had a point. There were no servants on their wing this time of night. "Point duly noted. Still, I'm not willing to leave the tarts for something I will have later, anyways."

"Maybe I won't be in the mood."

America glanced down at Maxon's waist, tilting her head slightly. She bit her lip, a small giggle escaping her before she answered. "We both know that's a lie."

"You've got me there," he admitted. "How about a compromise?" The timer went off, but neither of them moved.

"I'm listening."

"We take these tarts out, give them a few minutes to cool." Maxon walked toward her, every step causing her chest to tighten, making her body throb with need for the touch of his lips on hers. "In the meantime, you let me treat you like the Queen deserves." He was next to the oven now, his hand trailing along the handle. "Then, we take a couple with us, along with another bottle of champagne, back upstairs." Maxon grabbed the oven mitt and took the tarts out, all perfectly golden and delicious. However, America had to admit they were nothing on her husband. She watched as he set them on the counter, Maxon's gaze never leaving her.

"And what shall we do upstairs?" she murmured, her voice heady.

"Whatever you desire. I am yours, America Schreave. I'm yours to taste and tease, to have and hold, until you decided you've had enough. Today and every single day between now and forever."

Maxon closed the distance between them, leaving barely a breath of space between their bodies. His hands stayed at his side, but America felt like he'd taken over, that every inch of her was tainted by his presence.

"Is that what you want, America?"

He was close, too close, and yet, not nearly close enough. The proximity was maddening.

"How do you do that?" she gushed. America was about to break, to lose the calm and teasing demeanor she fought to keep around him. Maxon leaned forward, his breath sending goosebumps all over her.

"Do what, darling?"

"Not turn to putty?" How did he manage to not turn into this needy, pining, pitiful thing? He seemed in control, like he could handle anything. Maxon's hands caressed her cheeks, pulling her towards him. His gaze was heated yet vulnerable.

"Every time I'm around you, every time I hear your name, it's like waking up from a dream that never seems to end. You unravel me, darling. I'm only good at faking it. I want to return the favor, to give you the love and devotion you deserve." He placed his lips at the top of her neck, just underneath her ear, emitting the last spark that finally set her whole body ablaze.

Her hands grabbed on to his shoulders, pulling him flush against her. Their lips crashed together, the tension they'd both stalled finally reaching its breaking point. America was dimly aware that her back had hit the cabinet, that she'd grabbed her husband's hips and held them against her as she grinded into him. She needed more. More of his taste mixed with champagne and strawberries, more of his fingers drifting along her thigh, hiking her skirt up. America wanted to shred the fabric between them, to feel her husband's length against her skin before she took him.

Maxon's thumb brushed against her core, sending a wave of pleasure through her body. His fingers pushed her underwear aside, gently teasing and stroking her. America's breaths left her in stuttered gasps that morphed into a beautifully anguished sigh as her husband's fingers entered her. Every circle of his thumb against her, every time his fingers deftly slid back and forth, was almost enough to drive her over the edge, to place her on the brink of insanity. She wanted every inch of him, to feel the tension of his muscles as he claimed her.

"What do you want, America?" he whispered as he quickened his pace, earning a desperate groan from her. She couldn't take it anymore, not here. She grabbed his wrist, making him still. "Are you okay?" he whispered, worry tainting his voice. He shifted and pulled his hand away. She did affect him, just as intensely as he affected her. America never dreamed that she could love someone this much. She brushed her hand against him, making Maxon's breath catch.

"I'm better than okay," she whispered as she took his face in her hands, kissing him with the depth of her soul. "I know what I want, Maxon."

"And what's that?"

"You. Upstairs. With the tarts." She brushed her thumb across his lip, an incandescent smile spreading. "I'll get the champagne."

"I'll race you," he countered.

"You're on."

They both broke away from each other, their laughter mixing in with the banging drawers and clang of pans. Maxon managed to get the tarts transferred to the tray, while America grabbed a new bottle from the fridge along with their glasses. They took off through the castle together, laughing the whole way. It didn't matter that they were King and Queen of a nation. Tonight, they were just two people in love. She felt capable of anything when she was with him.

They had barely shut the door to their suite and set their items down before they were on each other again. America made quick work of her husband's clothes, throwing the contents with reckless abandon. She'd purposefully put on her new lingerie set tonight, one Maxon had yet to see. He stared at her in wonder as she climbed up on the bed after him, her confidence basking in his stare.

"Like what you see?" she coaxed. Maxon swallowed slowly and nodded as she climbed on top of him. He gripped her waist and slid her panties down over her hips.

"I love what I see," he said in a breathless whisper. "I always do."

America kissed him, deeply, lovingly, pouring all she felt for him into that single moment. She took him in her hand, angling her body so she could take him. Maxon's whole body tensed at the contact, a strangled groan of pleasure leaving him as America rocked her hips against him, reveling in the feel of him inside her. She felt powerful like this, in complete control of how quickly they moved together, how deep she had him. Every second stretched into what felt like an eternity, of nothing but pleasing herself and her husband, of showing him exactly how much he meant to her, how much she loved him. That need drove her, pushed her. She cried out when she reached her peak, her whole body practically collapsing at how good it felt to be with him, knowing that he was right behind her. Maxon caught her as she went limp, clinging to her as he came. They were a tangled mess, sheets wrapped around them, their heavy breaths slowing with every heartbeat. Maxon twisted to the side and pulled America against him. She was content in Maxon's arms, her whole body relaxed. He stroked her bank softly and placed a soft kiss in her hair.

"You," he muttered. He chuckled lightly before giving her a quick squeeze.

"What?" America glanced up before running her fingers along Maxon's waist. His muscles tensed, earning a wide grin from her.

"I just love you."

"I love you, too." She kissed him once more, slowly, languidly, savoring every second of it. She pulled away, pleased at the dreamy look on her husband's face. America shifted the sheets, detangling herself from them.

"Where are you going?" Maxon grumbled as he reached for her. America managed to deflect his grasp, grinning in his direction.

"I'm going to get us a tart, along with some champagne, and then, we celebrate some more."

His blush and grin was all she needed. "I like the sound of that."

 **The end! Please leave a review/like if you enjoyed!**


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